Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.

Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand?

He is not worthy of the honey-comb, that shuns the hives because the bees have stings.

Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's books, and defy the foul fiend.

Headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.

And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of.

But love is blind and lovers cannot see